Chapter 44: Extremely Brutal
"What?!"
Just as Chuck was watching the live video feed of his brother transformed into a vigilante, Jane stared at Chuck in astonishment, not knowing how to react. Then, the FBI's older white supervisor, answering his phone, came over with his expression drastically changed.
"Sir, what happened?"
Jane's attention was drawn to him.
"The Olson estate is under heavy attack, requesting backup."
The older white supervisor rushed out of the hospital with a grim expression: "Everyone follow me!"
Jane was stunned for a moment and instinctively looked at Chuck.
Chuck put away his phone and hurried after him.
Jane rushed to catch up.
Outside the hospital, the female sheriff drove up in her patrol car, nodded to Chuck and Jane as they emerged, and sped off with a stoic expression.
Everyone piled into vehicles and raced at full speed toward the Olson estate.
"Sir, was the distress call directed to you personally?"
Jane suddenly thought of a question.
"Yes."
The older white supervisor had a dark expression and didn't want to talk.
After all, he had been an agent for many years and had been promoted to a supervisory position at the field office, so he was quite experienced.
This sudden incident not only made him worry about the devastating consequences if something happened to the Olson family, but also made him realize that what Jane and Chuck had said about the previous case being linked to the Olsons was likely true.
Otherwise, in this situation, the Olson family should have immediately called the nearby tribal police station instead of contacting him directly.
What did this mean?
It was clear that they didn't trust the tribal police, yet they were deeply concerned about the FBI's investigation into the case.
No billionaire would be so fixated on law enforcement operations unless they had skin in the game.
There was only one explanation, and it wasn't the one he wanted to face.
The Olson family's vacation estate was far from any city or town, and even with the supervisor's constant urging for maximum speed, it still took 40 minutes to reach it.
"What the hell?!"
Upon arriving at the estate, everyone was armed and alert. What greeted them was indeed a scene full of activity, but it wasn't what the supervisor had expected.
Instead, news crews were already arriving by helicopter, reporting simultaneously from the ground and the air.
The worst-case scenario had occurred.
The damn media had gotten involved.
The older white supervisor had no choice but to get out of the vehicle, facing the cameras and microphones from the reporters, and led his team into the estate while repeatedly stating that he had no comment.
At this moment, the estate was eerily quiet, with no movement at all.
But the supervisor's heart was pounding, because signs of intense gunfire could be seen everywhere.
Fully armed security personnel were lying motionless on the ground.
Large sections of walls and furnishings were destroyed.
There were also areas that clearly showed evidence of explosive devices.
It was carnage.
Jane's face went pale.
It was the first time she had seen such devastation.
It looked like an active war zone.
Chuck remained calm, standing beside Jane, watching the supervisor command his agents to advance room by room using standard tactical procedures and safety protocols.
As the saying goes: Officer safety first.
"Clear!"
After searching the final area and calling the all-clear, the supervisor finally breathed a sigh of relief. He straightened up and emerged from cover, sighing as he looked at the middle-aged man slumped dead in his study chair, pistol still in hand.
The worst had happened.
A billionaire with close ties to the Department of Energy, a Wyoming oil mogul, lay dead before him.
The supervisor instinctively looked at Chuck and asked the inevitable question: "Dr. Wolfe, what's your assessment?"
"This is the work of a professional,"
Chuck said calmly, feeling satisfied.
His brother, despite still recovering from his injuries, had single-handedly eliminated these clearly prepared and heavily armed men. He was truly gifted.
It was a shame he had such a significant weakness when it came to interpersonal skills, otherwise he might have been able to match the legendary anti-heroes.
"..."
The supervisor was speechless.
No kidding!
If whoever did this wasn't a professional, then what the hell was a professional?
"Sir!"
an FBI agent rushed in, looking frantic. "You need to see this!"
"What now?"
the supervisor said irritably.
Things had already gone to hell—how much worse could they get?
"The reporters got wind of something, and now they're gathered outside the basement entrance behind the estate, trying to film and get interviews,"
the FBI agent said urgently.
"Stop them! Nobody goes down there!"
The supervisor's face darkened, and as he barked the order, he rushed toward the back of the estate.
It's common knowledge that American homes often have basements, used to store items not currently needed and as shelter during natural disasters or emergencies.
But every feature has its dark side.
Due to the rising crime rates across America, basements—a standard feature in most homes—had suddenly become the perfect location for kidnapping and imprisonment. Continuous reports of twisted imprisonment cases mostly involved basements, so much so that some jurisdictions had even enacted laws prohibiting basement doors from having locks.
Even ordinary people's basements were problematic enough, let alone the basement of a billionaire's vacation estate.
God only knew what horrors might be down there.
The supervisor's skin crawled at the thought, fearing that something awful might be captured on camera, which would surely create a media firestorm.
After finally forcing the reporters back behind the perimeter, the supervisor took a deep breath and had his agents open the basement entrance, descending in tactical formation.
Jane and Chuck followed closely behind.
"Holy shit!"
"Jesus Christ!"
Jane heard her colleagues' uncontrollable exclamations from the front. As she descended the stairs and entered the basement, she was stunned. She covered her mouth and couldn't help but vomit.
Chuck stepped aside, avoiding the retching Jane, and walked forward.
The basement was indeed unlike any other basement. Down the stairs was a long corridor, lined with glass display cases under fluorescent lighting, giving the impression of a macabre museum.
Chuck continued walking, and at the end of the long corridor, a T-shaped junction branched off, also lined with glass display cases.
156!
Chuck, who was most sensitive to numbers, immediately had this count in his mind.
What is true evil?
If the owner of the estate—who was lying dead with a bullet hole in his forehead in the study upstairs—could still speak, his definition would be truly fitting.
Matt Olson, who killed five people over a matter of pride, was indeed just a child compared to his billionaire father.
"Is this Agent Aaron Hotchner?"
The calm voice of the supervisor suddenly echoed in the basement. He looked at this horrific basement with a pale face initially. After picking up his phone, dialing a number and speaking briefly, his expression became much more composed. Facing the questioning looks of his subordinates, he said seriously: "I've notified the BAU unit chief. They'll be here soon. This matter is no longer under our jurisdiction. We just need to secure the scene until they arrive."
(End of chapter)
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